The Forgotten
by Spike Daft
Summary: The night of his defeat, Toad discovers what it is to be Forgotten. Very, very, very dark.
1. Chapter One: Monsters

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The Forgotten 

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By Spike Daft

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Chapter One: Monsters

What monsters dwelled within that room no light-dwelling creature could say, for no one knew such horrors dwelled within the realm of the living. But these monsters were _not_ living, but dead. Yet still they watched through impassive eyes; mouths slack and made lazy with lack of food, teeth made sharp from fighting, tongue silenced with lack of substance.

There was little light in that room; its only source was a dingy, uncovered lightbulb that strained and flickered and tried to edge away from the shadows that crept up upon it as though it were prey, gnashing their shadows teeth and flexing their shadow claws. But however bold, even they would flee from the momentary flashes of flame that erupted, and would sit cowering and undulating in the shadows until the flame failed and they could return again.

The room itself was like a living cancer; its walls were brown with cigarette smoke, and natural light never ventured in. Black sheets that served as drapes were doubled over the windows and nailed down so they could not flap. There was nearly no carpet; most was worn away to its white, spidery under-threads, showing the gray and pitted concrete beneath, and what was left was brownish and splotched with dried blood and filth. There was no furniture; a tiny television was propped upon a cardboard box, which listed to the side as though dragged down by the weight of the room's atmosphere. 

Startlingly, a computer was on the floor, its screen background black so as not to cast too much light. It was a newer model, yet its talents were wasted; its main use was dedicated to online communication. Anonymous and properly protected-- a lifeline in the dead shadow. 

It was in this room that the monsters dwelled, glazed eyes open to the world but apathetic and indifferent. They sat or lay upon the floor, and rarely spoke to one another. Most of their eyes had become pale with blindness or near-blindness, and their nails were long and yellow and sharp. Their clothes hung in tatters off of their bone-gaunt forms like shrouds. Some heads of hair were black and done up with gel in spikes, other heads were bald, and a couple had long cascades of tangles that masked their faces and puddled despairingly into their laps. Many were pierced and adourned with metal and black leather, some of which was chewed out of desperation. Sores covered their bodies; some bore lesions that wept tears of a greater disease; others bore lacerations, bruises, scratches, and burns from fighting. All of their arms were scarred badly, some grotesquely so, and hypodermic needles littered the ground everywhere, as did long bands of rubber, belts, lighters, cotton balls, spoons, and small empty glass phials. On the wall near the door was taped a piece of grimy newspaper, and scrawled upon it with blue marker were the words,

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From the warmth and life of day

Cast to the shadows where the night-things play…

For the Lord's lost Children forgot to pray,

And so Forgotten they shall stay.

Outside the room, the night fell down, graceless, and finally its worshippers stirred.

Gaelie was the first to rise from her needle-littered place in a corner. Inhaling deeply, she stood up and stretched, sniffing the air appreciatively, scenting the night and all its pleasures, waiting for her. Her eyes became accustomed to being open after her long sleep; they were dark blue, not pale like most of the others, for as a Runner she was not blind, but rather needed her sight to navigate in the outside world. Carefully she stepped over bodies lying still in slumber or in trance upon the floor and went to the window. Peeling back a flap between two nails, she pressed her face against the wall and peeked out at the night.

She smiled at what she saw: a warm summer's night, bereft of breezes that chilled already cold bones. Stars twinkled myriad over the New York skyline and the moon, full and luscious, smiled down at her. From the fortieth floor of the tenant building, Gaelie fancied that she could be high enough to touch its face. The thought made her bare her teeth in a smile.

" What brings Gaelie so much joy tonight?" came a soft voice from the deepest shadows, where no light dared tread. The voice was not a warm and friendly one; it was one that had perhaps been gentle in better times, but now was harsh and growling despite its quietness.

" I'm eager to go out into the night," Gaelie replied, her slim form still stationed longingly by the window. " And I'm eager to get new stuff for us."

There was silence for a moment, and then the voice came again.

" And this provider is trusted? You never told Rakla his name, I hear. Thus you are not yet approved."

" He is trusted," Gaelie replied, slightly defensive. " I've bought from him before. Look, we all need more, me included. I would not endanger so many lives. You've never doubted me, at least not to my face. I have to admit that this is not a good time to start."

There was no sound from the shadows, and after a few moments waiting Gaelie took it to mean permission to leave. Silently she slipped out the door, clutching the wad of bills in her hand, wrapped in a cloak as dark as the shadows.


	2. Chapter Two: Forgotten

**Chapter Two: Forgotten**

The light still haunted him.

No matter how he shied from it, the pain was still there. It had been two long years since it happened, and yet his memories of that day were crystalline, and never far from his thoughts.

At first, he had tried desperately to forget; he had wandered, gravely injured, and taken shelter in the alleys where no normal dared to tread, yet still the pain and the images flooded his being. Not long after a man came running down an alley in the dead of night, seeking the cover of shadow. He waited, hidden, for his prey to stumble into his jaws, and when it did he struck with a thirst for blood that had not been a part of him before the incident. 

He had killed the man, who was obviously fleeing from the scene of a crime, and by the clotting blood on his clothes he knew that the crime was a desperate one. From the man's jacket and pants he took a candy bar (blessed food!), a Rolex watch, three hundred thousand dollars cash, and glossy black Glock handgun.

He ate the candy bar quickly, cringing at its taste but grateful for food, for he had not eaten since the day of the accident. He put on the watch, which was too big round his thin wrist, and put the money in his pocket, though money had never mattered to him.

Smoothly, he placed the gun to his head and closed his eyes, feeling with some excitement the cold circular band of steel at his flesh and the relief already washing over him.

But out of the darkness a hand had come forth, smooth as quicksilver, and had plucked the weapon from his hand. He had opened his eyes and snarled at the shadow crouched before him, but the incident was still too near; pain racked his body as he tried to lunge, and he fell to his side.

" Quiet now, brother," came the stranger's voice, and he held still, head cocked awkwardly, raptly listening. 

" Come with me," the stranger said, and moved off down the alleyways. 

He was lucky his eyes were adapted for the darkness; the stranger's cloak was like the shadow, and he did not wait to see whether or not his newfound charge could find his way. 

Quietly he followed, confused but unafraid, for he had nothing left to lose. The voice that had spoken to him had answered all his questions.

He followed the stranger for at least a mile, and then into a large tenant building, where he stepped into a lift with him and rode it all the way to the fortieth floor.

In the light of the lift car he could see the stranger's features; his head was bald, his cheekbones hollow. His teeth were yellowed and sharp, as were his nails, and his eyes were a dark blue. His skin was white, not yellowed like the rest of him. His whole body mirrored neglect, but at the same time he seemed clean and genuine, and he scrutinised his charge with an interest bordering on fascination.

Before long the doors slipped open with a breathless hiss, and he followed the stranger out into a long hallway, at the end of which was a door through which they entered.

Most of the beings within the room looked the same as the stranger-- who later revealed his name, "Lorne"-- but their bodies stank of said neglect, and many bore sores that wept clear fluid which ran down their skin like sweat. Very few really looked at him; all turned their heads in his direction, but their flat gazes and pale eyes told him all he needed to know: most of them were blind. The rest had eyes of the same hue as Lorne's, and they watched him with guarded interest. One girl who did not look so decrepit as the rest ventured forth to touch his skin, breathing deeply, and Lorne handed her a long band of rubber, which she tied round the upper part of his arm, ignoring his flinches. Beside her Lorne had withdrawn a glass phial of white powder from his pocket, and was busy heating the contents in a spoon; the flame of his lighter flickered and many of the others screwed up their hideous faces in some unknown emotion.

Soon the powder was liquid, and Lorne drew forth a small wad of cotton batting, which he used to soak up the contents of the spoon. The girl, whom he referred to as Gaelie, handed him a hypodermic needle, and he withdrew the liquid into the cotton ball into the barrel of the syringe. Gaelie went to her own corner, leaving Lorne in peace with his charge, whom he led gently to another small room just off the main one. This room was oddly empty of people, and Lorne lay him gently upon the floor, his back pressed up against the wall to keep him sitting. They both looked down to the throbbing in his arm, where a vein stood up reluctantly.

Lorne's thin lips curved upward into a smile.

He closed his eyes as Lorne's needle sank into his arm, and a cry escaped from his lips involuntarily as he felt the warmth shoot through the network of his veins. His breath escaped him in harsh pants as ecstasy mingled with agony, and suddenly through the haze he was aware of Lorne's dark eyes on his own, face inches from him. 

His hands fluttered to Lorne's face, spread like starfish, and Lorne's breath was hot against his cheek as he whispered, " I know what you are. Now, you are one of us: my son, their leader. May all your nightmares be forgotten."

Had he known they were only beginning, it would not have mattered.

Gaelie returned shortly before dawn. She swept quietly into the room, smelling of incense and cigarette smoke and the night.

She regarded the shadowed corner, and withdrew from her long coat a rectangular plastic case, which tinkled as it moved. 

" Here- it's clean," she said, and watched as a long-fingered hand clad in black gloves reached out and plucked the package from her hands, pulling it into the darkness. A moment later she heard the glass tinkling freely, and a reverent sigh escaped the shadow. 

" I shouldn't have doubted you." Another sigh. " Shit… this _is_ good stuff."

The box was handed back, minus four phials of white powder, and Gaelie smiled, pleased. She sat down opposite the shadow and grabbed two rubber bands from off of the floor, listening as within the shadow the minute sound of glass tapping against metal filled her senses. Moments later a lighter flared, and the shadow, normally nearly tangible, fled up the walls and crouched, trembling, in the corners of the ceiling, and Gaelie smiled again as she beheld the mutant.

His skin was green, though it was difficult to determine in the quality of the light, and his hair was black as far as she could tell, all done up in spikes. Gaelie had always wondered what powers he possessed, as she did with the others who had become Forgotten, but he would never reveal them no matter how she urged.

He had transformed since he had first arrived; the drug was what had done it. Like the others in the room, including Gaelie herself, he now wore a ring of silver in the centre of his lower lip, and a curved, sharpened bar pierced the skin between his eyes. His features were now marred by the rings, changed by them, and his eyes, once dark and liquid and beautiful, were now showing signs of the same blindness that afflicted most of the others. One was completely white and sightless, and the eye that remained bore only a shadow of its former beauty, for the white film had made it cloudy and frightening. His bones stuck out from his parchment-like skin, and his nails were long and sharp, not yellow but dark green-- a facet, Gaelie supposed, of his mutation. His teeth were the same; sharp, transformed by the drug as the rest of his body had been, and his once powerful legs lay wasted, tucked beneath him, for he rarely moved at all.

He looked up suddenly from his work over the spoon and caught her looking, and he hissed at her like a snake.

" Gerroff it- quit staring or I'll black yer eyes."

" Sorry," she said, and quickly looked away, frightened of his power. Though there was no leader of the creatures in the room, she always felt a deep sense of respect for him, and looked at him as though it was he who presided, for he was the child of Lorne; it was Lorne who had given him power.

She looked up again as he gently took a band from her and tied it round his arm. Gaelie shook away her musings and did the same, watching as the cotton ball was lowered into the spoon and the flame flickered out, leaving him in shadow again. A few moments later a needle was thrust from the darkness out at her, and she took it gratefully, her gut twisting painfully with withdrawal. Slowly she lowered the needle into her flesh and gave a sigh of satisfaction as the warmth flooded through her. From the shadow came a groan, and she knew he had taken his share.

Through her haze she was aware of the others converging upon her, some watching her intently, some feeling about blindly for the right way to go. Presently a weight was lifted from her lap and she dimly recognised that the others had taken the box for their share. She heard their whispers of pleasure and smiled before the blackness swirled up from the floor and took her far away.


	3. Chapter Three: Words in the Dark

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Chapter Three: Words in the Dark

"Liddle bitch finally came through for us, eh Toynbee?" Rakla asked the shadow as he lit a cigarette, thrusting the pack into the darkness. 

A gloved hand came out and took it, and moments later a flame flared, and Toynbee sat with the cigarette in his hand and the smoke trailing from between his lips as he answered," She did. Why's she a bitch, Rak?"

" Just is," Rakla shrugged. " Acts like she's queen of the fuckin world just 'cos she can go outside. So Miss High an' Mighty is a little less fucked up in the face than us… don't mean she's got to act like she don't worship the needle, same as everybody else. I been here longer than most of you, an' I seen some very strong people crash an' burn, my friend. Maybe she ought to be a liddle more humble."

Toynbee didn't reply, but sat smoking reflectively, peering out of the darkness to where Gaelie sat, as always by the window, her long raven hair oddly healthy in the sickly glow of the lamplight. It cascaded down her back like a river of obsidian.

" Fuck off now, Rak," he said. "I wanna talk to her."

Rakla nodded, getting up to leave. His eyes smiled falsely at Toad. " 'Ope you give that bitch a good lesson in proper behaviour, Morty. I'll be rootin' for ya."

" Just shut up and piss off. And _don't call me Morty,_" Toynbee hissed dangerously, and Rakla took his leave without another word. As he passed Gaelie he hissed something at her, and her gaze turned to Mortimer, her brows furrowed. Carefully she picked her way across the room and joined him.

" What's up? Rakla said you wanted to teach me a lesson…" She could not hide the fear in her voice.

" Ignore Rakla," Toynbee answered. " I just wanted to talk to you."

She nodded, the nervousness leaving her face, leaving it beautiful and smooth again. The ring in her lip glinted in the light as she ran her tongue across it thoughtfully, waiting for him to speak. Finally he did.

" I've been having dreams, Gaelie. Important ones. I know you too believe in the significance of dreams."

" Yes, I do."

He seemed pleased. " Good… of course you do. Then you'll understand why I must ask this of you, and hopefully you'll answer me truly."

" I… I'd never lie," she faltered, and felt heat in her face.

" Gaelie, tell me how you came to be here. Lorne said you were here long before I was, but I never got a chance to ask him how this whole group came to be. The night he was coming back to tell me the story was the night he died. I want to know why you haven't left this horrible place."

Gaelie gasped. " I didn't know you felt this way about it!"

" Don't act so surprised," he snorted. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately; more than I have done since I've come here. And I have come to wonder why I have to stay here, slave to the needle, and why my willpower has been robbed of me."

Gaelie cast her eyes downward, sighing. " Lorne came to me, much as he had to you, I'm sure," she said softly. " I had run away from home; my mother had died; she committed suicide when she found out about my…powers…and my father was a bad, bad man, and loved me in the wrong way. It seemed like Lorne could see the entire world at once, and so he somehow found me only two days after my departure and knew how desperate I was.

" He took me back here, and gave me the needle, and it felt so good in my veins, you know? And he kissed me and said, 'May you forget all your troubles, Gaelie.' And I did, at least for a while. Not terribly long after that, you came along, and Lorne seemed to forget about me. You became the second in command, so to speak; he loved you most. I have to admit… I was angry that you were with him in his final moments and not me; I didn't understand why you chose that night to leave the flat, and it turned out to be Lorne's last. I still don't, in truth. He was like a father to me, you know."

" I do know," Mortimer said softly. " He was so much to me as well. I am sorry you could not have been with him in his passing."

Gaelie blinked back tears, letting the silence comfort her. After a while she asked, " How did he die? We were never told."

Mortimer smiled, but the smile never touched his eyes. For the first time in a very, very long time he made to stand up. Gaelie, shocked, rushed forward into the shadow to help him.

" Come," said the mutant known as Toad. " Come with me, into the night. There we shall talk."

Without another word she helped to lead the half-blind mutant out the door of the room he had not left since the night Lorne had died, and together they disappeared into the night.

The blind eyes of a legion of Forgotten followed them, feral teeth bared. In their midst, Rakla regarded their departure with his hand in the pocket of his tattered overcoat, feeling the slick metal there, promising an end to traitors.


	4. Chapter Four: The Red Rivers

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Chapter Four: The Red Rivers

Mortimer stopped Gaelie when they has reached an alleyway not three blocks from the tenant building, his white-clouded eyes rheumy and weeping in the cool fresh air. 

" Here," he said, " in this alley, at the end. I can still smell it."

Together they walked, though Toad noticed her hesitancy as she led him deeper into the rubbish-perfumed darkness. He could hear her breath roiling in her lungs, and he squeezed the shoulder upon which he leaned.

" Strength," he said, and he felt her hair against his cheek as she nodded, gulping.

At last he pointed to the ground ahead, and barely managed to keep from breaking his brittle legs as he landed suddenly upon the asphalt, for when Gaelie saw what he was pointing at she had ceased to support him and rushed forward, falling to her knees and sobbing brokenly. 

On the ground, in a large round pool, Lorne's blood reflected the stars. 

Gaelie, still sobbing, dipped a finger into it and frowned when it came away wet; she noticed also that little runnels of it had seeped among the cracks, forming tiny rivers upon whose banks ants worshiped ceaselessly.

" It is still wet, though it has been two years since he was murdered. It will remain forever, never drying, never washing away."

Gaelie looked up, startled by Mortimer's voice, and she saw him sitting on the ground, spindly legs crumpled awkwardly beneath him, hands scraped. He watched her calmly, his eyes led to her by the sound of her voice.

" Oh God," she gasped, going to him swiftly. " Mortimer… I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me… I didn't mean to drop you!"

He blinked as she wiped his hands upon her coat, brushing away the gravel and blood, fussing over him. " Do you wish to know how it happened now, or is the sight of this enough of the story?"

She sighed and shook her dark locks regretfully. " I wish to know, no matter how horrible it might be. If I am not told, I know my dreams of it will haunt me forever."

" Lorne found another that night," began Mortimer, and struggling he finally sat up upon his haunches in a shadow of his former crouch, shifting his weight from leg to leg as he told the story, his eyes shifting nervously. "He had been watching her the previous evening, and he knew in his way that she needed him. He called me out with him, and I went, though I didn't want to. But I was never one to deny Lorne; none of us were.

" So we went, the two of us, into the night. I was frightened and paranoid, constantly wanting to run and hide at the slightest sound or hint of people. Lorne hushed me and made me stay with him, and told me to trust the night again, as I once had; no one could see me for what I was when the sun was asleep. I trusted him, and at his order we scaled this tenant building to my back; at that time I was not so degenerated and my powers still enabled me to climb, and Lorne as well. 

" The girl was below, in this very spot, kneeling and weeping amidst the garbage. My heart went out to her; I had felt very much the same as she seemed to feel then. Her skin was covered with yellow scales… she reminded me of a…of a friend that I knew once, before I was Forgotten. We watched her for a long time, and Lorne said nothing to me during our vigil, appearing very deep in thought. Suddenly he turned to me and said, 'Down, Mortimer- let us met her now.' So we scaled down, dropping the last two stories and landing in front of her; she was very startled. When she saw us she drew back in fear, but when Lorne began speaking to her she lost that fear very quickly. She knew we were mutants.

" I don't need to tell you what he said to her; you know already because it was the very same words he spoke to you the night you became Forgotten. It was the same as he said with each of us when we were discovered. When he asked if she would join him she nodded, and Lorne was very pleased.

" But before we even set foot outside the alley toward home a figure clad in black moved very swiftly out from his place behind the wall, and quick as a shadow he was upon us. The girl screamed abruptly and then fell silenced, her throat cut. In these short seconds Lorne had shoved me physically toward the wall and hissed, "Up, up- go up _now!_" I ran up the side of the building, thinking Lorne was behind me."

Gaelie's eyes were like moons in her pale face, and she let out a breath. " He wasn't, was he?"

Toad shook his head sadly. " He remained down in the alley, facing the figure that had now begun to scalp the girl. By the time I stopped I was five stories up, and I watched as he held up a hank of blonde hair and laughed. Lorne roared at him and made as if to attack him, but the figure was too swift. He was upon Lorne before my eye could follow, and I saw blood spurt black in the darkness and the figure vanished.

" By this time I had reached the ground, but I was too late. Lorne lay dead, his entrails out. There was never a last goodbye, or words of reverence, so don't envy me. There was just the darkness and the steaming blood.

" I took his body to the harbour," Toad said quietly, his head down. " I weighted it with stones and swam with it, out to the middle, and let it drop from my hands. He will never be found."

Gaelie wiped tears from her face. " The figure… you referred to it as 'he'. How do you know?…"

" Because," Mortimer said, smiling grimly, " he lives among us. You know him well."

Gaelie stared, thunderstruck, and then a voice came out of the darkness.

" Enough stories for one night, Green Man," said Rakla, stepping out of the shadow of the wall behind which he had hidden himself.


	5. Chapter Five: Fate

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Chapter Five: Fate

Gaelie let out a short scream of fright, and then pointed a trembling finger.

" You," she hissed, and Rakla laughed, holding up a chunk of foul-smelling yellow fibres. _The hair, _she realised with growing nausea. " You killed that girl, and you killed Lorne! Both mutants… you dared to kill your own kind?!"

Behind her Toad suddenly lurched snarling to his feet in a fit of immeasurable strength, and the two clashed with a horrible scream, falling backward together into the ever-flowing pool of Lorne's blood, biting and kicking with all the feral instinct of wildcats. Presently Mortimer screamed with pain, and the sound of Rakla's cruel laughter could be heard amidst the fray.

" _Enough!_" screamed Gaelie, and suddenly her hands felt very hot; she looked down to see green energy webbed between her fingertips. She felt very strange, for it had been many years since she had used her power, but as time seemed to slow and she saw Rakla driven back momentarily she thrust her hands at him, and watched the tendrils fly from her outstretched fingertips and envelop him. Almost that very instant she was showered with a myriad of wet chunks as the thousands of tendrils cut through the other mutant, sending bits of him splattering everywhere. The alley was instantly filled with the smell of the drug, for it invaded every fibre of the Forgotten's living tissues.

Gaelie retched and tried to wipe the foul-smelling lot from her dress, and then saw Toad struggling on the floor of the alley, and she rushed to his side.

He was covered in blood, both his own, Lorne's, and Rakla's, and there were horrid gashes that laid open his flesh, but Gaelie noted with gratitude that none of them looked life-threatening. Beside Toad lay a glittering knife, and from it Gaelie felt a most horrible aura radiating, and at once she knew it was the blade that had slain Lorne.

Sitting up, Toynbee seized it and held it out to her. " Destroy it."

" How?" Gaelie gasped, feeling the slick metal in her hand. Her gut twisted with nausea as it seemed to writhe in her clutches, trying to get free, to finish its slaying.

" Throw it in the harbour," whispered Toad. " Throw it out as far as you can."

She nodded, moving forward to help him to his feet. " Let me help you home first."

" No," he hissed, shaking his head. " We must not go back there. The rest of them know of Rakla, and were in allegiance with him. There is now a hunt for our blood; in a few hours, when they need a fix again, they will leave the flat and come searching."

" What… what should we do?" asked Gaelie quietly.

" All is lost," said Toynbee sadly. " If I were you I would throw myself into the harbour as well, and be rid of this nightmare forever."

Gaelie looked at him in shock, and despite their paleness his eyes were very dark.

" I say this not in cruelty," he said slowly. " But you are addicted, and will forever be, and from now on wherever you go to find your fix they will be there, waiting for you. Better you to take your fate into your own hands; death is rapture compared to what they would do to you. For the rest of your life you will be running, but you cannot outrun the addiction. No one can. And where it lies, they lie."

Gaelie absorbed this in silence, and after a long period of silence she asked softly, " What will you do?"

Toynbee seemed to smile in the deep darkness. " I saved a relic from the night I was Forgotten, taken from a man I slew in this very alley." From his tattered coat he pulled a shining pistol, and held it up reverently.

" Go to the harbour," he said. " Do not leave your body to the wolves; it is too beautiful yet."

" Come with me," Gaelie whispered.

" I cannot face those waters again," said Toad, shaking his bloody head. " Nothing could ever make me go back there, not even all the redemption in the world. Go lie with Lorne; it is your rightful place."

With that he turned his back on her, his head bent over the puddle of Lorne's blood, cradling the pistol as though it were a child. Gaelie could hear him taking softly to it, and slowly she turned and walked out of the alley toward the harbour. She cast one last look over her shoulder at him, her eyes filling with painful tears.

" Goodbye, Mortimer," she whispered, and fled from the darkness of her past, into the darkness of her future.

Toynbee remained in the alley much longer than he had anticipated, but he had not reckoned that the gun would start speaking to him. Had he known that it was only madness setting in, long overdue, it would not have mattered. He remained.

He remained until the moon had begun its descent, fleeing from the sun. He remained as the puddle of Lorne's blood mingled with his own and with the traitor Rakla's and finally sunk into the concrete, the ants dispersing in an angry swarm. He remained until the steel of his talking Glock reflected the visage of a youngish man with a strange visor across his eyes, flanked by grim-faced followers, all of whom he dimly recognised despite his near blindness. He remained until his talking Glock was deftly plucked from his numb fingers by the visored man, who said " Mortimer Toynbee, you are to receive justice for your crimes against humanity. Cerebro was able to locate you; we thought you were dead. You've been lucky to be free this long. We are taking you to Charles Xavier."

With that he was pulled to his feet and promptly supported as his captors realised that he could not stand. Absently he rolled his nearly white eyes up to the face of the man who spoke, his thin lips with their glittering ring curved upward slightly, and he said in a very strange voice:

" I thought you had forgotten me."

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The end.

Look out for the sequel!


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